More than words: I own you
by mercurial2010
Summary: Hardcore M, Brendan POV. Stendan are close, very, very close. But there will always be some things Brendan can only say through actions like "you belong to me."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

*waves* *runs back into hiding* *steels self from the guilt and waves again*. Hi! So this last month has been fucking crazy, I'm really sorry I know I've been a very bad author. I feel totally blocked with the other fics. I wasn't writing anything although I wanted to, but then a little birdy said she misses me and my plot bunnies kicked alive again and I have loads of new stuff to post (so this fic wouldn't have happened without Kabr - just saying thank you, lovely). I'm really sorry, and to anyone who'd rather throw tomatoes at me, I'm wearing a white top today so I'd rather you didn't :P

**About this fic:**

I'm doing a series of fics with the prompt "Stendan are close, very, very close. But there will always be some things Brendan can only say through actions, and some things that just sound better that way." The series is called "More than words", theyre all Brendan POV. This is the first one.

It's really supposed to be a one shot, but it got very long so I put a chapter split in butt I'm posting it all at the same time so you guys can decide whether to read it all in one go.

**Warning:**

It's hardcore M, the most intense I've written for this fandom so I'm a little nervous, but I hope you like it. It was a helluva load of fun to write.

Please leave some words, tell me to ***k off, tell me you'd really rather I didn't post anything if I'm not gonna update, tell me you're not quite sure what the worry is about because you'd forgotten who I am. Deffinaely let me know if this is a little too intensem, I'll remember to tone it down in the future.

Right and now here's to the boys:

**B&S**

"This isn't about you," are the first words Steven says to me.

He stands with his back against the office door, hands on his hips, looking at me with mild distaste and withdrawal. The look that's been growing these last few weeks since I screwed up again for "the last time ever" he had called it.

"It's not nothing about you. I haven't even thought about you." He wobbles slightly on his feet as he says it, evidence of the alcohol he's been drinking on a mission named forget, and although he refuses to drop eye contact I can still read that his words are a lie.

"But I'm drunk, proper plastered. And Doug and the Queen are making me wanna be sick with their dancing and kissing and…." He pulls a face.

I breathe heavily. I wouldn't admit it, but I'd been watching him since the moment he walked through the door with those two. I was formulating their little relationships: Steven and Doug back together, Steven and JP, which was an image I'd saved for later, and then some weird threesome pattern. Steven as the third wheel was not what I pictured - I feel my heart take a breath.

"I mean I'm happy for them, me, obviously, just their acting like love's actually about more than just great sex and not being lonely."

I look up at him for the first time, his words catching my attention like barbed wire. Since when did he give up on love? Looking into his eyes takes my breath away, there's a look in the vivid blue that's old and wary, that tastes like timeworn heartbreak.

That's me.

"And all the guys out there are proper mingers, there's not one bit of talent, and I'm… see the thing is I'm proper horny," quickly he laughs like he can't believe he's just said that.

But it's too late to stop the effect of that speech. The words plaster everything in this office, expand and stretch till there's nothing but the scent of him and the heat of him, and God he's fucking hot tonight. He's left those scally clothes for jeans and a tight white t-shirt that shows off that amazing tan – pulling clothes.

I place the papers down on my desk, slowly, methodically; like I'm about to divert my attention to a new task.

"Did you want me to do something about that?" I ask, even I doubt the question.

His eyelashes flutter closed, blood heating his cheeks, the shy boy I know. I'm reminded that Steven will always have a part of me, like there's long burning embers that will never be extinguished no matter how many times I fuck up and he kicks me out.

"If you want," he whispers, quickly.

There's a look in his eye like he craves danger. Like he knows he's entering the dragons den but he's not going to pay attention to any warnings.

"So," I say, standing up slowly, unfurling my limbs for his viewing pleasure, "let me get this straight – you're asking for what? A one night stand? Friends with benefits?"

"I don't fucking care Brendan! Call it whatever you want, I'm just…"

"Desperate?" I ask to make his eyes narrow – lust was always parallel to anger for him.

"Fine, forget I said anything. I hate to break it to you but there's plenty of other guys out there, I'm sure I can find one much-"

I slam the door shut as he opens it.

"Did I say no?"

I feel my breath reverberate from his shoulders pulled tight. Without touching him I pull the soft cotton of his tee down, needing more of him for my exploration.

I take a breath of him. He's wearing new aftershave tonight and for some inexplicable reason my heart clenches painfully at the thought.

He turns to look at me from over his shoulder, his eyes shining brightly and I feel those embers enflame.

"You just want me to make you come?" I question.

I keep my face low, close to his. The smell of alcohol on his breath excites me – he was always so fucking wild after he'd been drinking, I could make him do anything.

I take my time to be close to him, breathing in deeper. I smile, watching his lips part, knowing he's growing infatuated by the thought of my kiss.

"Yes," he says.

I move closer to his lips and those rosebuds tremble, shaken by the storm of us.

"Just sex?"

I flick my eyes up over his smooth long neck, hard jaw, damp soft lips, knowing he can feel every inch of my exploration.

"Y-yes." He stutters voice irrefutably heated.

I breathe over his mouth, watch his eyes fill with pleading for my kiss.

"So you don't want me to kiss you?" I ask pulling up quickly.

His lips tense closed for a second.

"No, I don't." His words are determined like I can't read him.

I nod stepping away from him, watching his eyes darken into rejection. But I reach out, lock the door and he beams at me like an over excited puppy, finally a little bit of life within his gaze.

I look over him, all over him. Seeing where the tee is rucked just above his jeans, his hip bone jutting; the place on his jeans where he clearly dried his hands before coming in here; the shake of his fingers as he hooks them into his belt loop. I formulate.

He bites his lip, all wrought nerves and excitement and fuck I wanna push him against this door, fuck him till all he knows is the sound of my name.

But that's not how this is going to work.

I turn on my heel and walk away from him slowly, rolling my shoulders, knowing he's watching my every step. I sit onto the leather couch. Relaxing. I spread my legs, ready to enjoy this spectacle he was practically begging to put on for me.

"Take off your clothes Steven," I said, nonchalantly like I was asking him to turn on the light or pass me something. Like the thought of him stripping for me could ever be inconsequential.

"What?!" He asked incredulously, clearly still unaware of exactly what I was going to make him do for me.

"All this is about is sex." I reminded him slowly, "so it doesn't matter what I do, or rather what I make you do, as long as I make you come."

"I'm not going to strip for you!"

I smirk - like he's never done it before.

"You're talking like you have a say in it." I said, shaking my head slowly, telling him clearly how this is going to work. "You're only choice is simple, you walk away and screw whatever looser you can find out there, or you sign yourself over to me, your entire body, the entire time you're in this room. You leave, or you do exactly as I say, the moment I say it, no questions asked," I say, rather enjoying the places his submission could stretch my imagination.

I watch the play of fear and confidence in his eyes - he has no idea how sexy he is when he's like this.

"So, which is it?"

His eyes flicker over to the door.

A part of me screams to drop this act, to stop pushing him away when all I've wanted to do for weeks is pull him to me, keep him safe, sleep with him, not sex but sleep the way I only can when he's in my embrace.

But he looks to the floor and smiles, and when his gaze meets mine I know he wants this just as much as I do.

"Take. Your clothes. Off." My voice is breathy then, pitched in the way I know pumps straight to his cock.

His hands shake as he pulls at the white cotton, his arms crossing, abs tensing, as he pulls it up and over his head. I drink in the sight of him, I can practically feel the thrill in those slight muscles, the fire I'm filling him with. I map every part of his torso, the darkened nipples, the shadow of his abs, that ridiculous tattoo. God I could watch him for hours, I've tasted every inch of him and still I get pleasure from just looking. I can't imagine a day I'd ever get bored.

He's biting his lip as his shirt drops to the floor, and I can see he's drenched in nerves, that he thinks it's possible for me to ever be unresponsive to him.

I feel my dick harden already.

I lower my eyes, looking down him once more, assessing, as if I need to! And nod slowly, giving him my verdict.

He slides his feet out of his trainers, and pops the button on his fly. He stumbles in his haste to take off his jeans and laughs at himself, shaking his head. His eyes flick to mine wanting to share the joke. But they immediately darken with the way I'm looking at him. I tell him, with just my gaze, that I have don't have time for anything but lust, exactly what he asked me for.

"Fuck," he breathes and looks as if he doesn't even know he said it.

I see his adams apple bob as he swallows, hard.

He bends, slowly pushing off his jeans.

He reaches for his boxers.

"Stop." I instruct, "stay still."

His hands drop to his side and then he stands for my inspection.

I look at him for the entire length of a song in the club.

My eyes glance all over him from his hair slicked back, eyes darkened, pupils dilated, lips parted, jaw tensed, chest smooth, nipples pert, muscles shaking, fingers clenching and unclenching. Treasure trail sweet and the shadow on his boxers so fucking dark. I've not even touched him and he's already hard, although I can't exactly say anything different.

Steven's pretty organised with his underwear. He has his laundry day boxers, fucking ugly things usually pastel colours with ducks or umbrellas or ducks holding umbrellas, I blame Doug. "Lucky day" boxers which apparently Amy had given him the day he'd got the job with Tony, that are slightly too tight so I knew them as my lucky day boxers. Of course he has his casual boxers and then these.

These.

Tight, black, Calvin Kliens, that have the unfair effect of making his cock look impossibly larger, arse look perter, skin look smoother and I defy any man, gay or otherwise, to look at him and not need to pummel him into the closest wall.

"Come 'ere." I instruct and beckon him.

He moves quickly. He's with me in an instant. And I know exactly what thought is twinkling in those blue eyes.

Dublin.

He bends down, calling for my kiss.

But I sit back.

We're not exactly going to get back there are we? When he's wearing nothing but his boxers and I'm… me. I was a different man then. For that night, and all those wonderful hours I thought I could be a better man. I was an idiot.

He reaches for me again.

"No kissing, remember?" I say, reminding him of the rules of tonight's game.

His eyes darken despondently and on instinct I move closer to him. I check myself just in time and just let the tip of my tongue flick over the sensitive nub of his right nipple. He bucks toward me, impulsively and I do the same to the left.

And then he keens.

And fuck I forgot how much I would do for that sound, how it seeps into my consciousness and makes me it's slave. I grasp his hips, and pull him closer toward me, taking his nipple right into my mouth sucking and pulling, teeth and tongue. His hands sink to my hair, strands weaving between his fingers, bringing me back to reality. I drop his nipple but he holds me in place.

"Let go." I say, but he moans in protest. "Let. Go." I order, dominantly.

He fulfils my request and I do too, my fingers clasping at the ridged edge of the leather couch, needing something to hold on to.

I take a breath.

"No touching," I say, knowing how he loves to respond to rules. "You're not allowed to lay a finger on me, do you understand?"

He nods and I can see the excitement flashing in his eyes as he waits patiently.


	2. Chapter 2

So then, back to these boxers. I trace up the outside of his thigh, over his hip, luxuriating in the feel of them, brushed cotton, like silk. They're expensive, you can tell by the feel of them. They're probably the only item in his cupboard he ever gets dry cleaned. He only wears them on very special days,

"On a promise tonight, Steven?"

He laughs sweetly when he knows I remember, and I reach toward him, finding that little slit just by the root of his cock that one of our more adventurous nights had caused. He bucks toward me, entire body shaking as soon as my tongue touches his skin.

"I asked you a question."

"Yeah h-hot date," he breathes and I can tell by his tone he's trying to fill me with jealousy.

But all I do is beam as I realise he's losing the power of speech. Soon his mouth is going to be full with nothing but my name as strung out vowels.

"Really? Sorry to keep you from it, you can go if you like."

"I'd rather you sucked me."

"Careful!" I breathe, "that almost sounds like an order, you know what we do about orders don't you?"

I watch the slow spread of his grin as he remembers that evening, a few years ago now, when he didn't leave the club till after sunrise. We stood side by side on the balcony watching the world restart and he complained that it hurt when he walked. Said he couldn't possibly walk all the way home and I swear he could hear my heart's silent request that he came back to my place.

"What do we do?" I ask him.

"Remind me," he says slowly and I burn in the fire in his eyes. "Please, boss," he adds, the way he rolls the title with his teeth and tongue pumps lust straight to my cock.

"Come here then, bend over my thighs, let me see that arse of yours."

He bends slowly over me, his arse delectably vulnerable for my gaze. He presses his whole weight down on me. I can feel his cock brushing against my thigh, and I tense my muscles, pushing back into him. I rotate slightly, thrusting against him, hearing those swift little breaths as he tries to keep control.

I place my hand on the small of his back and move it slowly down to his arse, over the cotton. I raise it and then something stops me, memories twisting this touch into something else, something infinitely bitterer. God what if he thinks he can't stop this? That he isn't able to say no? That he can't just get up and leave or ask for it differently? I'd screw him slowly and gently, forever, into this couch; if that's what he wants.

"Brendan," he breathes, tilting his head so his gaze meets mine.

His eyes are a midnight blue; his dilated pupils almost bleed into them. He doesn't want this differently.

"Remind me," he threads so much through those two words, like understanding and forgiveness and desire. "Please?" He adds to turn the tables again, so I'm solidly in control.

I bring my hand down harshly onto the soft cheeks of his butt. I hear a sharp intake of breath, but then a long slow keen like he's wanted nothing but to be touched like this forever.

"Again." He asks, and I bring my hand down.

"Harder," he whispers and I bring my hand up further, pushing it down faster.

"Oh God yes!" He sighs like he's spent an eternity missing me.

I do it a couple more times, not guided by his voice anymore but by the signs of his body. His cock rutting hard against my thigh, the whimpers and keens from his mouth falling between my thighs. Each time the initial tension flows away he looks more relaxed than I've seen him in weeks.

"Bren," he keens delightfully the seventh time I do it. His voice sounds small like it's coming from a million miles away and I know I've left him as little but firing nerve endings.

"Are you going to remember now?" I ask, pausing my hand on his back just above the waistband of his trousers.

He nods.

"Speak up."

"Ye-yes sir."

I slide my hand into his boxers, against his naked skin. His skin's warm from the friction, and he whimpers as I gently tend to the heat.

He has the most amazing arse, all soft contours and deep valley, and when he's tensed like this you can feel every muscle. Unable to resist I trace down further, letting my thumb slide between that crack and down, slowly enough that I can feel the slight furling and unfurling of that tight little ring. I use my free hand to lower down his boxers, keeping them bunched at the top of his thighs as I expose all of that gorgeous arse to my hungry gaze. I can't take my eyes from him and my hands work on impulse.

I move further down, collecting his precum against my index and middle fingers.

I pull back and push into him, right to the hilt.

A long slow breath releases from him and I stroke down his shoulders with my free hand, easing his body into my touch.

I feel him grow alive in my gaze. I remember how he looked when he first walked into my office tonight and smile as I realise I'm bringing him back to life.

I feel his internal muscles relax, and I scissor my fingers.

"Fuck!" He whimpers, arching into my touch.

I can hear how close he is.

I would finger fuck him right here, bring him off with just my fingers inside him. I bend so I brush against his prostate and he moans, promising me it won't take long. But that's not the way he wants this.

Slowly I pull my fingers out of him. I pull up his boxers. Cover him back up.

"Stand up." I order, and he moans disgruntled but fulfils his duty.

He stands for my gaze.

"Turn around."

"Wha'?" He blinks, slightly dazed, and I know words aren't making much sense to him at the moment, left powerless under my touch.

"Twirl for me."

A fucking confident smile pulls at his lips, and fuck I need to kiss him. Impulsively I push forwards, stopping myself just in time.

His eyebrows rise just once before he starts doing as I asked. Turning slowly.

His hips rock to the music from the club, and fuck if it's not the sexiest song I've ever heard. He takes his time, grinning at the floor like he's getting off on this, and the power he has over me.

With his back to me, he wiggles his hips, his bum shaking for my gaze.

He pauses for a moment.

Then thrusts his butt right back toward me. His pert little bum lays to rest right in front of my gaze, and I know he's trying to make me touch him.

I will not give in.

He turns his head so he looks at me from over his shoulder, his eyes flashing. He reads the resistance in me and his eyes darken - he's so incredibly turned on.

His eyes flick down to his lips, and then he looks up at me like he's preparing to break my mind. He widens his thighs, walking backwards so my left leg is between his, careful not to touch a single part of me. And he squats as he goes, like he's riding me, but he's fulfilling his orders, he's nowhere near me.

Every fucking part of me remains untouched.

He moans, like he's getting off and then coughs, and I can see the laugh he swallows. But then he does it again, stronger this time, like he's doing everything to possess me.

And I have to let him.

There is nothing I can do – I gave him no orders about moaning did I? I fucking told him to twirl for me.

"Brendan," he whispers my name all long and breathy, his voice sounding exactly the way it does when I'm inside him.

And I snap.

He takes my mind and snaps it like crystal.

I grasp his hips again, and pull him up, pushing the side of his boxers with my thumb. I bend forward and bite that perfect soft skin.

"Jesus!" He whispers, involuntarily bucking up for more.

"No," I breathe, not moving my mouth away from him, knowing he loves to feel my lips and tash as I talk, "Brendan Brady."

And he laughs then, truly, honestly, like my joke is the best thing he's ever heard. And I can't help myself – I need to look at him. One hand releases his hip and comes up to his chin, tilts his face towards mine.

His smile pulls my own, he looks happy.

I trace my thumb across his lips, needing to know the feel of them. He takes my thumb all the way in quickly in one thrust and my cock jumps at the memories. God I want to fuck that perfect mouth.

I pull my hand away, reluctance dripping from every pore.

"Uh-uh," I say from the back of my throat.

I let go of his face, taking hold of his thigh and pulling it up. I close my legs and make him stand over me properly. He goes to sit down, quickly now he's been permitted, but I hold onto him.

"Wait!" I say.

I move both sides of his boxers so their up into his arse, exposing both beautiful cheeks. I trail my hands up and over his stomach and then down into his boxers, my fingers snagging his smooth skin, I pull at any hair I reach that is long enough, and then I stroke my hand firmly down the length of his penis.

"Brendan-" he whimpers.

I ensure the boxers are tight around his erection and then I push him down, right down, onto my cock. I know my hardness is going to drive the edge of those boxers against him, the friction enough to melt his mind.

"Grind," I order.

He moves to the music; and, as he starts, I feel every muscle but one go totally slack, and tighten again. His head falls forward against his chest, and he's moaning now, properly. I push my lips against his neck, my tash running up against his nape. I breath him in, the scent of him wrapped up in warm sweat-laced skin.

"You're a fucking tease Steven Hay, do you know that?" I whisper.

He laughs although it sounds like anything more than a moan is effort for him.

"Yeah, I'm the tease," he responds.

I dig my nails into his shoulder bone and run them all the way down to his arse, to the top of his thigh, knowing he loves the burn. I spread my fingers out, edging closer to his dick.

"God Brendan, please," he whispers and I know he just needs a little bit more.

"Get up," I tell him.

I'd be quite happy to let him get off right here, my hand doing the work, but I'm not quite finished yet.

"Fuck!" He protests like he's devastated. "Please?"

I smile, bringing my mouth up to his ear.

"We're not done yet," I promise him.

I can't help but tug on his lobe before I let go.

He stands up slowly, like he doesn't quite trust his strength.

"I believe you were twirling Steven," I say.

A big sigh leaves his shoulders and it's almost enough to make me push him back down again, thrust up in him until he comes all over his boxers and my trousers. But from somewhere unknown he congers enough strength to shake his hips to the new song.

He stands for my gaze.

I run a finger up the inside of his leg, into the boxer short.

"Do you want these off?" I ask my voice dripping with us.

He nods mutely.

"Do it then."

He pulls them down swiftly. His cock springing free immediately all pink, and harder and larger than I've ever seen. He looks down at himself and this fucking cheeky grin grows over his lips like he's proud.

"Pretty impressive," he jokes as he catches me looking at him.

I lower my gaze to him again.

"Oh I'd say more than that Steven."

I lean forward, pressing my tongue against his head just for a moment, I don't wanna make him come I just need to taste him.

His taste explodes over my tongue and fuck I forgot how good that is. I'd give him head for hours, I swallow every time.

I sit back and catch him smiling at me like he knows.

"My trousers have become rather constricting, Steven." I say, pressing my palms into the leather behind me so my groin is displayed for him. "Don't you think you should do something about that?"

He steps toward me, his hands reaching for my zip, but another slap stops him in his tracks.

"Did I say you could use your hands?"

"My teeth?" He asks, eyebrows knotted in confusion.

"Unless you wanted to use something else - your cock's hard enough," I say looking at his manhood a breaths distance away from me, just waiting for me. "Might work," I tease him.

He takes a moment. And then he beams at me, this clever cheeky grin, like he's just worked out something he wants more than his own release. He takes a couple of steps back, bends down, kneeling low on the floor and crawls over toward me, his eyes fixed on mine from underneath heavy eyelashes. He moves sleekly, like an animal, and my nails grip into the leather to stop me from making him really wild.

It takes a few efforts but he gets the zipper between his front teeth and pulls down. His tongue undoing the button. The relief is immediate, my cock jumping to the free space immediately. I watch his eyes dilate as he practically salivates.

He moves toward me, looking like he'd very happily swallow me whole, but I know even one lick would be my undoing. The end of all the hard work so far.

"Stand up." I order.

He looks up at me with pleading eyes, wanting nothing more than to suck my cock, and I blink a couple of times to maintain conviction.

"Stand up," I say.

He submits, although every muscle in his body shakes. I hold onto his hips to stop him from falling.

I beam as I play the next question on the tip of my tongue. Tonight has all been leading in one direction, my every move designed to get us here. And I think we're here.

"Do you wanna play with yourself?"

"No," he barely breathes, shaking his head loosely. "You," he pleads, thrusting his hips forward. His voice is so weak it wouldn't be fair to chastise him for his error.

But still, the mission.

"I'm in a watching mood right now Steven," I tell him, raising an eyebrow, silently asking him who he thinks we have to blame for that. "You can play with yourself though."

He groans.

"I'm not gonna play, but you can bring yourself off now. Do you want to?"

I knew from the moment that he stood against that door and told me he just needed to get off that I had to make him do this for me. I need him to know that even masturbating is better when he's with me, because every single cell belongs to me.

He takes a deep breath and nods.

He raises his hand ready, but I thread my fingers through his, preventing his efforts.

"Ask me then, nicely," I add reminding him who has ownership.

"Please," he says, his eyes flashing as he does so, asking has always made him so fucking high.

"Please what?"

"Please boss, I'd really like to touch myself, please can I?"

Oh fuck. The things his voice does to my cock, I'll be getting off on this image for a while.

"Go ahead," I nod. "Just your cock, no-one goes near your arse but me, " I add, suddenly needing a backup in case this didn't work.

He touches his cock gently with his fingertips, like it's too fucking sensitive to even hold. He strokes root to tip, but I need him to do more than that. I need him to stand here, right in front of me, and give himself the best fucking orgasm he's ever had.

"Harder," I tell him.

And he groans but obeys, taking his entire hand around his cock, stroking in one long movement.

He looks like, if he had the brain power to think, he'd be embarrassed, so I tell him, "God you're so fucking hot right now, Steven. But you need to do it harder, and quicker. You need to make yourself come."

He looks at me like he's making to protest but he's stopped by something, be it the look in my eye or the movement of his own hand. He comes alive.

He tilts his head back, touching himself properly, quick, quicker, hard harder.

"Yes," hisses from him.

He bites his lip, looking right at me, before his thumb flips over the head, pulling the foreskin.

"Nnngh."

His whole body trembles so I grip him with both of my hands, letting him dissolve into sensation.

"Ah, Brendan," he says as his hand reaches the root of his cock, "Brendan," he repeats like there's nothing better than the sound of my name. And then it spills from his lips with every drag of his fingers.

And he's fucking glorious, standing for me, above me, practically glowing in the artificial light. And his eyes are full of fire as he stares right at me. And everything about him is telling me he's mine.

Mine.

All mine and mine alone.

What the fuck am I doing?

"Stop!" I insist.

"Fuck no," he says like he couldn't even if he tried.

I trail my hands to his thighs, pushing them apart and leaning my face in-between.

"Stop," I say and breathe right into that dark, puckered hole.

And I feel him let go of himself.

"I thought you weren't playing," he says and his voice sounds beautiful and joyous.

"And I thought this didn't have anything to do with me," I reminded him.

I gripped his hips again.

"Do what you like Steven, I'm going to make you come now."

His hands grip the back of my hair.

I stick my tongue right inside him, and he pulls my hair tighter. I slip my thumb in, bending to that angle and I feel him tremble hard above me. I press my palm to the dampened head of his cock, knowing he just needs pressure to keep him on the edge. And he moans my name.

He keeps moaning it again and again. So I thrust my tongue faster, stroke my thumb deeper.

"God, Brendan, I'm gonna-"

And I leave his arse, taking my mouth around his cock, catching the first shoot. I deep throat him, swallowing as I go.

"Fucking hell Bren. Brendaaaan."

He comes for the track of one whole song.

"Bre- Bre- Bren- Bren- Brendan."

I swallow all of him. Tasting him, inhaling him, knowing him, owning him.

When he finally stops he blinks like he's dazed and looks like he's going to pass out. I pull him to me, and he collapses down on top of me so hard I almost fall backwards. I press a hand down into the leather couch taking both of our weights.

He stays still in my arms, as I embrace every after tremor. He breathes back to normality against my neck.

As he pulls away he refuses to meet my gaze like he's ashamed of something.

"You were glorious," I assure him, stroking his cheek.

"I lied," he says, still neglecting eye contact. "This had quite a bit to do with you, actually."

"What and you think I don't know that?" I ask, unable to stop the laugh from spilling from my lips.

"Not really, just-" and he meets my gaze. But just as he does so he blinks like something he'd forgotten about has caught his eye.

He smiles, looking down and I feel my cock stir. I'd forgotten. Caught up in his release I'd completely forgotten I needed my own. Maybe this ownership isn't just one sided.

He slides to the floor, pressing my legs apart. He grabs hold of my thighs pulling me to the edge of the couch and I lift my hips as he shucks down my suit trousers and boxers. He takes his hand around the root of my cock, and then just smiles at me obediently from beneath his eyelashes.

I beam at the rules of our game.

"Steven," I say my version of his name long and slow, confessing that it does as much to me as it does him. "Suck me," I instruct.

He deep throats me the way I taught him, and does that thing with his tongue I never could learn and it takes me literally a moment before he's swallowing every last bit of me.

He smiles at me, watching me as I come back to him.

"Come here," I say, and he moves up to sit in my embrace again.

He bends his knees into the leather couch, either side of my hips, sitting down into my lap.

He looks at me like he's going to kiss me, all eyelash heavy, and lips parted and leans closer. But just before he tilts his face so his lips press into my cheek. I'm beginning to hate that rule!

"I missed you," he lets himself confess to me.

"I'm shit at this," I tell him.

He laughs, "I wouldn't exactly say that, me!"

"Not this," I grin sharing his laugh for a minute. I take his hand and place it on my heart so he can feel it's rush, so he knows it beats only for him. "This."

"Oh." He smiles, understanding, "then shit's an understatement."

"I don't wanna keep hurting you."

He swallows, like he's building up enough strength for us again and I know there will be a time when he just won't be able to; when he'll run out of forgiveness. Eventually that heartbreak that tarnished the beginning of the night will overtake everything inside him.

"It's OK-"

"No, no it's not. I don't wanna keep hurting you, but I don't wanna keep losing you." My words are stuck in my throat; I don't know how to explain this to him. "I want to….fight!"

"I think we've been doing quite a bit of that Brendan," he complains, folding his arms into a sulk.

"Not fight you, I want to fight _for_ you, for us."

"Oh… OK then," he smiles and I watch something like a sunrise in his eyes.

"But I don't know how." I whisper confessions from the bottom of my heart. "There's never been anyone like you Steven. I don't even know where to start." I gesture how little I have to give him with my empty hands.

He takes each hand and places it back around him.

"I can help you," he says quietly.

He wraps his arms around my neck, resting his forehead against mine.

"I'm not saying I'm perfect or ought, me. But, we can… help… each other, if you like?"

I can feel the hope he breathes into my heart.

"Yeah, Yes, I'd like that."

"Then we start tonight, right now. And we start with a kiss."

And his head nudges down to mine, and his lips meet mine for the first time tonight, and it feels like I'm healing. The kiss is soft and slow, like it's a hello, like it's nothing more but a union between two mouths. And it stays like that long into the night. And I make sure I kiss him like that every year for the rest of our lives.

And my office, where we started our future, remains the place we play our game.


End file.
